


The Friendly Sky

by Ejella



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mile High Club, alternate first meeting, intimate conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejella/pseuds/Ejella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John do not meet at Barts. Instead, they meet on a plane. John is uncertain of his possibly crazy seatmate; Sherlock is intrigued and has plans for the good doctor.</p><p>“Not many people have expressed a desire to kiss me once they get to know me.”<br/>“Fools, then, the lot of them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John knew he should be more excited than he was to be getting away from London but instead he felt bitter. His sister Harry had just finalized her divorce 3 months before and here she was jumping into another marriage. They’d had a tremendous row over how fast she was moving. Harry, in her typical drunken state, had retaliated by saying that at least she was moving on. He’d done nothing but molder in a bedsit while feeling sorry for himself. By the end of the argument, John had been no longer invited to the wedding and he had felt nothing but relief.

Of course, after his sister sobered up, she’d apologized and begged him to still attend. They were holding the wedding in Portland, Oregon in the US since that’s where Julia was originally from. Although she lived in London, her family all lived on the west coast of America. The benefit meant that the majority of the Watson clan would not be attending; John had been the only exception. With well-practiced remorse and guilt, Harry got John to agree. He had still been reluctant so she used her trump cards: he was her closest living relative, she’d given him a relatively new phone and that she’d promised to use miles to get him a business class seat.

He felt cheap for selling out to her so easily, but in the end, she was still his sister and it had been an ongoing dream to fly in something other than economy. He was flying business elite from London to Minneapolis, and after a two hour layover, first class to Portland.

Having never been in the VIP lounge before, he was amazed by the offerings. The free food, the free drinks, leather chairs and, believe it or not, showers.  His bitterness started to fade with his first pint.

He was comfortably seated in one of the deep arm chairs when a man walked by him. No, not just a man. An impossibly gorgeous man. But it wasn’t just his looks that drew John. The man exuded charisma in the way he walked and moved. He’d never felt this level of immediate lust for anyone before. It felt like stepping into the middle of an electrical storm. His fingers tingled with the desire to _touch._ He wanted to run his hands along that lithe body. He wanted to tangle his fingers in those lush curls.

The man continued past him, speaking sternly into his phone. Even the voice. God. John _wanted._

He made an instinctive move to get up and follow the man. To do what, he didn’t know. All he did know was that he couldn’t let this man walk away from him. His leg banged into his cane bringing him back to reality. He collapsed back into his chair with a sigh. He looked down at his own clothes. Worn denims, faded shirt, comfortable jumper, the cane. He wasn’t a soldier or a doctor anymore. He was a broken man searching for a new purpose. The stranger was nice to look at, but John knew realistically that it would never go beyond that. People like that man did not go for people like him. Maybe once, but no longer.

A voice announced over a speaker that his flight would be boarding soon. He began gathering his things, pushing away hopes for things he couldn’t have.

**********

Sherlock loathed flying. It wasn’t a fear of flight; no, he understood the mechanics and knew it was safe. It was the enforced inactivity that rankled him. He could, and often did, stay in one position for hours as he contemplated a case or rearranged his mind palace, but those times were by choice. He would soon be confined for nine torturous hours. He was tempted to throw a tantrum a 3 year old would envy, but it would most likely get him thrown off the plane. And he couldn’t afford that right now.

He normally didn’t take cases that required extensive travel, but since he was being evicted from his flat, the fee he was charging for this case would help secure a new living situation. An old client had a flat in a prime location. This would allow him to place a deposit and first month’s rent while he looked for a flat mate. He loathed asking Mycroft for money more than he did flying, so hence, accepting the case.

Besides maybe a change of scenery would be good. Cases had been sparse and he’d been on the outs with Scotland Yard. It was always those times that old needs resurfaced. It would be so easy. A quick high. Anything to break up the tedium of endless days.

He never took drugs when there was a case. They were reserved for the in-between times when life became monotonous. It would be easy to succumb. But he knew his meddling brother would find out. Then he’d be banned from cases at Scotland Yard. Lestrade’s team would mercilessly mock him. He could practically taste their malicious glee in seeing him fall. He couldn’t bear their condescension so when a case in Minneapolis in the US presented itself, he took it.

He hoped it would be interesting rather than mundane, but he suspected it would be the latter. They usually were. However, the fee was large and it got him out of town for a bit and that’s all he wanted for now.

Sherlock was on the phone trying to convince Lestrade that he was on the wrong track with his current investigation. The inspector was being obstinate, but Sherlock knew that as soon as a complex case came along, Lestrade would be begging at his door. As he was talking, he scanned the crowd. Most of them were dull people with dull reasons for traveling. So utterly predictable.

He heard a commotion behind him. A man with a cane had lost his balance and was struggling to stay upright. A bag sat at his feet. Dropped obviously. The cane was a recent addition as he wasn’t comfortable with it and he didn’t know how to maneuver with the cane and his bags. The man’s mouth was tight and his face was a dull shade of red. Sherlock had not been the only one to notice. Others glanced at the man with the cane and then quickly away in embarrassment. He, however, he continued to watch as the man slowly steadied himself.

Sherlock cocked his head as he considered the man before him. There was something that intrigued him. Perhaps it was the stoic resignation on his face or the way he straightened himself with military precision. Yes, he must have been in the armed forces. He was in his mid-30s, so too young to retire. The cane told him he must have been invalided home. Wounded in action then.

That should have been the end, but there was something else that continued to draw Sherlock’s attention. He abruptly hung up on Lestrade so he could concentrate. The man’s face was a map of lines: laugh lines around his eyes, commas bracketing his mouth from smiling and frowning, slashes along his forehead that spoke of tension.  Bags under his eyes indicated sleepless nights. His face was a contradiction. There was laughter and pain. It was a face that looked lived in.

Sherlock desperately wanted to know more. Why had each line been formed? What caused him to laugh, to cry, to frown? There were more questions than answers when he looked at this man. He was a puzzle that Sherlock badly wanted to solve.

The man must have felt him staring. Their eyes met. The other man’s widened in surprise before skittering away. He got himself sorted and quickly made his way towards the exit. Sherlock entertained the idea of following him. He had to know more. Unfortunately he was also in dire financial straits so he couldn’t push off the Minneapolis trip. Damn.

What if the man was relocating out of the UK? What if he never returned? He wished he’d thought to take a photo of the man. He could have hacked into the government’s facial recognition program. However, he did know his approximate age so he could access the military database to see if he could find him. How many people could have been invalided home in the last six months? No matter how he loathed the idea, he had to let the man go for now. His flight was being called. He vowed to himself that he _would_ find him again.

Even though he hated being confined, Sherlock also liked boarding first so he could watch the other passengers embark. Quick deductions told him if they were threats or idiots. So far only idiots.

Until he saw the man with the cane from the lounge.

Sherlock didn’t believe in luck or fate but he had no other explanation for why the only person who had interested him in a long time was here on the same flight. He closed his eyes then opened them to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. No, he was still there. He felt elated like he did when a complex case came together or an experiment proved successful. It was all the holidays combined into one glorious day.

The man hobbled slightly as he carried his hold all while adjusting to the narrowness of the aisle. The flight attendant quickly jumped in and took his bag from him. He gave that tight smile again. Clearly he resented the idea that he needed help. Sherlock was entranced.

The man was settling into 5C which was two rows ahead of Sherlock. That would not do at all. There was no way Sherlock was going to waste this opportunity. The seat to the man’s left was occupied by an older woman. It was clear they didn’t know each other. He could work with that.

He grabbed a pen and paper and quickly scribbled a note. He flagged down the attendant to give it to the woman in 5B.

He watched as the woman unfolded the note. She looked back towards Sherlock and he raised his eyebrows at her. She looked down at the note again.

_100 quid if you will change seats with me._

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He silently cursed the woman as she slowly gathered her belongings. Sherlock wanted to yell at her to hurry. Only the fear of being tossed off the plane held his tongue. He was not losing this chance. She finally moved out of the seat and Sherlock quickly gathered his bag and moved to the now vacated 5B.

As he settled, the man looked at him, startled, a silent ‘oh’ on his lips. There was a flush high on his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Wasn’t someone else sitting there?”

Sherlock gave him what he hoped was winning smile. “She needed to change. I was willing.” He reached out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes.” The man took it.

“John Watson.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the delay! I had to go on two back to back business trips which left me little time to write. The third chapter will be up within the week. Pinky swear!
> 
> Thank you to Charlotte for a wonderful beta! This piece is far better for her input!

John had been surprised and secretly elated when he discovered that the man from the lounge was not only on his plane, but was sitting next to him. He hadn’t been able to believe his luck but he thought that the universe owed him one after all he’d been through. Now he wasn’t so sure. The stranger was handsome, sure, but he also seemed a bit, well, _barmy_.

_Just my luck,_ he thought. Maybe the universe wasn’t done fucking with him. It seemed oddly fitting that he would be sitting next to a gorgeous _crazy_ man.

Ever since the man, no, Sherlock (really?) had sat down, he’d been staring at John. Not in the good come hither way, no, it was in the ‘let’s see what John’s insides look like’ way. The stare was penetrative and unnerving. He wanted to fidget under the scrutiny, but he held himself still. He would not let this stranger see how deeply uncomfortable he was.

The younger man apparently satisfied his curiosity because he gave John a big smile. A big, _scary_ smile, all lips and teeth. His face, so handsome from afar, looked like a deranged mask you’d expect to see on a killer in a horror film. John involuntarily cringed back against his seat. Looks be damned; this man was giving him the creeps. Perhaps he should ring the flight attendant to see about moving. He wasn’t sure he could stand the next nine hours next to this clearly unstable man.

The smile disappeared only to be replaced by a frown that was just as expressive. The frown gave way to a look that John could only describe as pensive. He had to admit that it was captivating to see such a myriad of expressions in so short a time. His fascination faded as the man stared again with narrowed eyes. He finally looked away, pressing his fingers to his mouth. John could hear him muttering but he couldn’t make out the words. He wondered if the man heard voices and he hoped they didn’t tell him to hurt John. Definitely time to move.

He sighed. If the man were ill or in distress, John had an obligation to see if he could help.  He tried to discreetly look at the man’s pupils. Could he be on drugs? Was it a fear response to flying? His pupils were normal and his respirations seemed to also be in the acceptable range. Not drugs, not panic. Crazy then. Damn.

Sherlock could tell the moment he’d lost John. He knew intense staring was not the acceptable norm, but he couldn’t help himself. Now that he was next to John, he just had to see every detail up close. There were so many textures and variations that he hadn’t been able to see from across the room. His face wasn’t just a map, it was a three dimensional topographical map.

He noticed that John was staring back at him but not in a positive way. It was the type of stare he often got from Donovan and Anderson and he found he didn’t like that at all from John. He ran through his options. He wanted John to be comfortable with him, comfortable enough so that Sherlock could continue exploring so he decided to use what he liked to call his Gregarious Smile. He had perfected it over the years and it always worked. He moved his face into the precise position for the smile.

Sherlock frowned when John drew away from him, practically hugging the far side of his seat. He’d never had anyone react in that manner. 

This was unacceptable. He could see John’s fingers itching towards the call button and that would not do at all. How could he stop him?

He raised his fingers to his lips. Why hadn’t it worked? It _always_ succeeded in getting people to open up to him. He ran the smile through his mind. Lips, eyes and teeth had all been in correct proportion.

“Why didn’t it work? It should have worked.” He muttered to himself.

A hesitant voice sounded beside him. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock looked over at John, who while still was sitting as far as possible without leaving his seat, looked concerned, and yes, a little nervous. He made a humming sound. Most people would have already bolted. John must do something that causes him to look after people. He could work with that.

Should he pretend to be afraid of flying? Surely he could manipulate John’s compassion. And he was certain he was sympathetic. No one could achieve such a face without being as such. The lines spoke of caring, not malice.

If the smile didn’t work on him, he’d have to make another gambit. Would he be dazzled or repulsed by his deductions? Sherlock had noticed he was reading a mystery novel. If he enjoyed them, then certainly he should enjoy his observations. If he deduced John, it might get him to open up. After all, most people loved talking about themselves. It was a tactic he often used when interviewing suspects.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John blinked in confusion. “Pardon, what?”

John nearly laughed at the impatient huff the man made. His tone was petulant. “I asked Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John eyed the man carefully. He wasn’t sure if he should engage him but he was curious. “Afghanistan. How did you know?” he asked hesitantly.

John listened in wonder as Sherlock Holmes spun a tale of faded tan lines, haircuts, postures and injuries. “And even though you thought about changing seats, you asked me if I was alright. You glanced at my pupils and noted my respirations. Obviously you’re a caretaker. A doctor if I’m not mistaken.”

John’s mouth fell open in shock. “Seriously, how did you know all that?” He looked around for any hidden cameras. Was this a prank for one of those shows on the telly?

Sherlock’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t know. I _observed_. All the clues are there and I am able to decipher their meanings.”

John’s smile was wide. He was more pleased than he thought he should be to know it wasn’t a prank or a trick. Everything had been grey for so long that he wanted this man beside him to be the real thing. “That was brilliant! Utterly brilliant! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised. “Really? That’s not what most people say?”

“What do most people say?”

“Piss off.”

John laughed, not doubting that most people wouldn’t like to be exposed like that, but John didn’t consider himself like most others. He gave Sherlock a soft smile. “They’re all idiots then.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Sherlock said primly and John laughed again.

The flight attendant announced it was time to turn off all electronic devices. As John pulled his phone out, Sherlock said, “If you let me see your phone, I’ll be able to tell you more.”

John handed it over gladly. As Sherlock’s words told him of his sibling and the alcohol, John was beginning to realize the man wasn’t crazy, just brilliant in an eccentric way. John remembered suddenly the way the man had affected him when he’d first seen him. He surreptitiously glanced at him as Sherlock was focused on his deductions of the phone.

He’d thought he looked good in his suit, but close up he could see how it was perfectly tailored, highlighting his long legs and lean torso. The shirt was indecently tight and he wondered how much pressure he’d have to exert to pop the buttons. And that voice, god, that voice. He could imagine it roughened with desire.

Sherlock finished his deductions and glanced at John expectantly. He flushed slightly hoping the younger man couldn’t deduce where his thoughts had led him.

“Absolutely amazing. Just one thing though. Harry is my sister.”

“Sister! There is always something!” Sherlock smiled, seeming chagrined.

John was utterly charmed. They both settled back as the plane took off.  As soon as they were airborne, he turned back to Sherlock. “Are you some sort of detective?”

“I’m a _consulting_ detective. The only one in the world.”

John chuckled. “Of course you are. A singular job for a singular person.”

It took a moment for Sherlock to realize how he felt, but once he did, he was surprised to find that he was _happy._ No, happy was too imprecise. He felt buoyed by John’s praise. It enveloped him and lifted him. There had been no one who had looked at him with adoration before. He wanted to make this feeling last. He had also noticed that it wasn’t _just_ adoration. For a moment there, it had looked like John had wanted to eat him. Sherlock was not repulsed; in fact, he was more than intrigued.

It had been a long time since he was physically interested in anyone, but John had sparked something within him. If his face was a map, he wondered what tales the rest of his body would tell him. His fingers itched to undress him and find out.

“Can you do that about anyone?” John asked him.

Sherlock took a moment, scanning the other passengers with sharp eyes, searching for one with an interesting enough history to really impress John. Before he could start to reveal his victim's story, however, the flight attendant stepped in front of him to pass out the food and drink menus.

John stared at his in awe. “Can you believe this? A menu with choices that you don’t have to pay for! And free drinks, and not the cheap ones!”

Sherlock chuckled. “First time in business?”

John nodded. “It was on my list of things to do before I die.”

Sherlock pondered for a moment. “Let’s see. You’re not traveling for work. If you had been, you would be used to business class. Also, you have a book with you - not a computer. You would not have paid for this on your own based on the frugality of your clothes and luggage, therefore someone is paying for you. Most likely a family member. It’s not a funeral or you’d be more upset. You’re excited to be on the plane but you’re not carrying anything to suggest to be excited for your destination. If it were for a birth you’d be happier. Family function, reluctance, must be a wedding.”

“Amazing!” Sherlock was happy to note that John was no longer leaning away. In fact, the more Sherlock spoke, the closer he moved towards him. “Just amazing.”

“I’m right?”

“Yes, my sister is getting married in Oregon. Her divorce was just finalized three months ago and she’s already jumping into another. We had a terrible row over it. We try to get along, but we just don’t mix.”

Sherlock nodded. “I have a brother. He’s an awful meddler. I wouldn’t be surprised that if at some point on this flight you were approached to spy on me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, he has an annoying amount of reach and influence.” Sherlock made a moue of distaste. “However, if you should be approached, accept whatever money they offer and we’ll split it.”

John laughed at him. “I wouldn’t do that!”

“Nice sentiment, but we both need the money.”

John gave him an appraising look. “I know I need the money, but you look like you’re doing alright.”

Sherlock preened under the praise. “Normally I get by, but I’m being evicted and supplies for my experiments add up.”

John’s brow furrowed in a delightful way. “Evicted? For what?”

“Playing the violin at all hours.” Sherlock adjusted his cuffs. “Oh, and the noxious fumes,” he added nonchalantly.

“Noxious fumes?”

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. “It was an experiment. The fumes weren’t deadly, just malodorous. The landlord lacked imagination.”

John chuckled. “Yes, landlords can be unreasonable that way.”

Sherlock grinned at him. “It’s such an inconvenience. I have my eye on a new place and the landlady is much more amenable.”

“So you know I’m flying to Oregon. Where are you going?”

“Minneapolis. I occasionally take private cases. As I said, I needed money and they were willing to pay a rather exorbitant fee.”

John was intrigued. “Anything interesting?”

“Probably not. Missing art. Most likely a member of the family.” Sherlock sighed. “There are so few imaginative crimes.”

“A pity, I’m sure,” John said sardonically.

The flight attendant came around for drink orders. John ordered a beer and relaxed as he was served. He swiveled his head to look at Sherlock. “You know, I thought you were crazy.”

Sherlock gave him a self-conscious smile. “Yes, I could tell you were about to call the flight attendant.”

“I’m glad I didn’t though,” John said quietly.

“I still don’t understand why my Gregarious Smile didn’t work.”

“Your what?”

“My Gregarious Smile.”

John could hear the capitalized letters. “You name your smiles?”

“Don’t you?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“It _always_ works.”

“On who?”

“ _Everyone._ _”_

John smirked. “Obviously not. Just promise me, don’t ever sham me like that again?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but be pleased by the _again_. It implied that John would be around long enough for there to be an _again_. “Your injury, what was it?”

“Shoulder.” John cleared his throat. “I was shot in the shoulder.”

“What about your leg. No, don’t tell me.” He held his hands in prayer position under his chin. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Psychosomatic, of course.”

John let out a surprised noise. “How did you know?”

“When the flight attendant was assisting you, you didn’t lean on the cane. Your weight was evenly balanced. Even if it was for a short time, there would have been some discomfort if there had been an actual injury.”

“Remarkable,” John whispered.

The plane had fallen silent with people immersed in their own entertainments. John and Sherlock had both reclined their seats and they were curled towards each other. It was like they were in a private world. Sherlock liked the idea of it being just the two of them.

“Tell me about getting shot.” His voice was quiet.

John gave him a searching look. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this, however Sherlock seemed sincere in his enquiry, and if he were honest with himself, he was intrigued by the man. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to disappoint him by not responding.

“It hurt.” Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John held is hand up. “I’m not being facetious.” Sherlock closed his mouth and nodded for John to continue.

John considered his words carefully. “Bullets look small, but they are designed to do damage. Most people know this in theory. But when it happens, the intense pain is almost a surprise. It broke both my clavicle and scapula; it tore through muscle and nerves.” John took a deep breath. “I’m lucky that someone in my group was able to disable the shooter, because I couldn’t move. He could have taken a second shot and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.” John rubbed his face with a shaking hand. “I could feel the blood pumping out and I was certain I was going to die there. All I could think was _Please, god, let me live._ ”

Sherlock reached out and grabbed John’s hand. John’s fingers felt cold.

“You know what the worst part was?” John whispered. “I did get to live, but I lost everything that day. Until then I knew who I was and what I wanted. I knew how my life would play out. And then a small piece of metal changed everything.”

Sherlock’s hand tightened on his. “I was a surgeon. I was a soldier. I was really good at both. And now?” He shrugged. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t lived. Other times I tell myself it has to get better.”

Sherlock had the urge to kiss his hand. He wasn’t entirely certain why. Maybe to say thank you for the story, or perhaps thank you for being alive and therefore being here to meet me. John made no move to remove his hand, so Sherlock took the chance and entwined his fingers with John’s.

Sherlock opened his mouth to thank John for telling him, but what came out instead was, “I was a drug addict.” He inwardly castigated himself and expected John to withdraw his hand. He was surprised that John squeezed his fingers tighter.

“Tell me.”

“My mind never stops. There’s so much data. And if I don’t keep it occupied, it tears itself apart. Cocaine helped me to focus the energy.” John nodded. The lack of condemnation In his eyes gave Sherlock the courage to continue. “And when it became too much, morphine would help everything be quiet.”

“What changed? I can see you’re clean and I don’t see any residual signs of habitual use.”

Sherlock hesitated. It had been the lowest point in his life and he hated reliving it. He’d tried to delete it, but it was permanently burned on his hard drive. John had been wonderfully candid, but he didn’t think could do the same. John was suffering because of something that was done _to_ him but Sherlock’s pain was due to his own actions.

John squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me; I’m just happy you got through it.”

The open look on John’s face didn’t speak of disappointment and he knew for certain that John would drop the subject and not ask again. That alone gave him the courage to speak. “I overdosed. It hadn’t been my first.” He paused, gathering his thoughts “When I woke I was in hospital. I was still mostly out of it and the nurses were changing shifts. I heard them talking, going over each patient. When they got to me, all the nurse said was Sherlock Holmes, drug addict. She didn’t say Sherlock Holmes, Genius or Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. They just saw me as an addict who’d overdosed.”

He took a deep breath. He’d never shared this with anyone, and as much as he wanted to tell John, the memories were still painful and humiliating several years later.

“I forced myself out of bed and looked in the mirror. I took my personal self out of the equation and just looked at the evidence before me. All the clues added up to a junkie.” He looked at their joined hands. “I didn’t see my brilliance. None of what had made me special was there. I had become a junkie in the truest form of the word. Everything that made me _me_ was gone,” he said quietly. “If I’d died, it would have meant nothing. I would have only be a statistic, a drug addict who overdosed. I didn’t want to be that person. That was five years ago.”

Sherlock raised his eyes to John’s. He left his expression open so that John could read the honesty. His fear was that John would turn away from him. He’d untangle their hands and press against the far side of the seat as he’d done earlier. He was prepared for it, but it still hurt. John, beautiful John, did not look away. Instead he held Sherlock’s gaze and gave a small nod.

“How did you get clean?”

“They say you can only get better when you reach your nadir. I was there. I wanted to do it on my own but I knew I couldn’t, so I reached out to my brother.” He took a shuddering breath. “Mycroft, my brother, and I do not get along. We are blood brothers, but beyond that, there is not much holding us together. Our pasts,” his voice trailed off in memory. “Our pasts cannot allow us an easy future.”

“But you asked him anyway?”

“Yes, I was going to either get better or die. I found that I, surprisingly, wanted to live. So I reached out to him.  He kept me locked up in his house while I went through withdrawal.” John made a sympathetic sound.  “It was bad, but after the first month I got through the worst of it. I had thought once I was clean it would be over, but it didn’t happen like that.”

“No, it never does,” John interjected quietly.

“I had underestimated the psychological pull of the drugs. I had to learn to live again without the drugs. A case would come along and I’d panic thinking I couldn’t solve it without the cocaine since it enhanced me. I wasn’t seeing connections as rapidly as I had before.” His hand tightened further on John’s surely to the point of pain, but John did not flinch or try to pull back. “I thought my career, that which had defined me, was over.”

“What happened? You’re solving cases again so something changed.”

Sherlock nodded. “Detective Inspector Lestrade. I worked with him on cases. Of course, back then, he was still a sergeant. He came to me with a case that baffled him. And it was a gloriously complex case, but the connections weren’t there. I couldn’t _see._ I was…undone and so close to going back to the cocaine. I think he realized this so he brought the case file to my flat and taped everything to the walls.”

Sherlock smoothed down the front of his shirt absently. “He shadowed me, never leaving me alone. He sat me in front of the pictures and told me to take him through every piece of evidence. We stayed like that for two days until, finally, the threads began to emerge. More important than solving the case was showing myself that I could without drugs and I’ve never gone back.”

John gave him a small, yet seemingly sincere smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

Sherlock laughed bitterly. “You’re probably regretting not moving seats earlier.”

John shook his head vehemently. “No, I think that _not_ moving is the best decision I’ve made in ages.”

Sherlock gave in to his earlier urge and lifted their joined hands to his mouth. He gently pressed his lips to John’s knuckles. John smiled. “I’d like to meet this DI Lestrade sometime.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “While we are sharing confidences, there is something I need to tell you. Remember the woman sitting next to you originally?” John nodded. “I paid her to switch seats so I could be close to you.”

John’s eyes went wide in shock and then he let out loud guffaws that attracted the attention of the other passengers. He clamped his mouth shut and ended up with hiccups and tears streaming from his eyes. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Sherlock’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You remember we first saw each other in the lounge, correct? I didn’t know you were going to be on this flight. I thought about following you, but I really need the fee from this case. So I decided that when I returned I would hack into the government and military databases to find you.”

“You can do that?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Child’s play.”

John’s face was one of confusion. “Why me? Why would you go through all that trouble for me? I’m a pretty ordinary bloke.”

Sherlock wrapped his free hand around their already joined ones. “You are extraordinary. When I saw your face with its lines, grooves and wrinkles, I was entranced. I wanted to know how every line formed. I wanted to touch and taste each one. Was it a good experience or was it a bad one?” Sherlock stopped when he saw John’s shocked face (another look for him to catalog). He hoped he hadn’t ruined everything. “Was that not good?”

John licked at his lips. He lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.  His voice was rougher. “I,” he stammered and then began again. “No one has ever wanted to know me like that before. I’m – God, Sherlock.” Words failed him so he decided to take a page from Sherlock. He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed Sherlock’s hand. He hoped Sherlock understood the message, and if his _real_ smile was anything to go by, he did.

Their bubble was broken when the flight attendant came round collecting dinner choices. John decided on the steak. Sherlock loftily declared that he didn’t eat on a case. John laughed. “You’re not actually on the case yet. You won’t be until we land.”

Sherlock sighed, annoyed. “Fine. I’ll have the pasta.”

John decided that while the meal didn’t quite live up to the hype, the company more than made up for it. They talked through the entire meal, Sherlock regaling John with previous cases and John speaking of the plans in Oregon, about medical school and the funnier tales from Afghanistan. John was replete with good food, great wine and exceptional company. He felt sated and languid. He felt completely at peace for the first time in ages and he knew it was due to the man sitting next to him.

It was funny, he thought. When he’d first seen Sherlock, he had been flooded with immediate lust, but after getting to know the man, that feeling was a mere shadow of how he felt now. Oh, he still wanted to slip his hand beneath the collar of that tight shirt and feel if the skin was as smooth and soft as he imagined, but he also wanted to hear what outrageous statement would next pop out of that gorgeous mouth.

He didn’t want this to end. He wished the flight would last forever so they could stay in this perfect world they’d created. He was a pragmatist, though. Once they landed, this chimera of happiness would dissipate and they would go their separate ways.

“You’ve suddenly gone contemplative. Why?”

His reverie broken, he turned to Sherlock. What should he say? Sherlock’s earlier words reverberated in his head. John had been stunned by the confession. Maybe Sherlock was this way with everyone, but he didn’t think so, he hoped not. He hated being petty, but he rather liked the idea of being the person Sherlock was drawn to.

Only one way to find out. He didn’t want to later say he hadn’t taken the chance when he’d had it. He took a deep breath and reached out, stroking his fingers across the back of Sherlock’s hand in what he hoped was a clear invitation. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this happy.”

Sherlock stilled. John couldn’t decide if this boded good or ill. The silence stretched on and John realized he might have made a mistake. He withdrew his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No.” Sherlock grabbed his retreating hand. “I was just surprised.” His face softened, his mouth opening and closing a few times as if he were struggling for words. Was it because he felt tentative like John, or was he trying to let him down lightly?

“I was concerned that I had put you off,” Sherlock said haltingly.  “I can be singular in my focus and people do not often respond well. What I don’t understand is why you have not run yet.” He gave John a direct look, his voice deepened to a rumble. “And if you do not run soon, I may never let you go.”

John’s breath left him in a great exhale, his tension evaporating to be replaced with giddiness. A giggle built up within him and he couldn’t contain it. He sobered at Sherlock’s hurt look.

“I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I thought I was alone in this.”  He cleared this throat. “It’s my turn to be honest,” he said quietly. “Oh god,” he scrubbed his free hand over his face. “This is more difficult than I thought it would be.” He unconsciously straightened his shoulders. “I would really love to kiss you right now. I’ve wanted to since I first saw you. Hell, I still wanted to even when I thought you were barmy.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “Not many people have expressed a desire to kiss me once they get to know me.”

“Fools, then, the lot of them.” He looked directly at Sherlock. “May I?”

Sherlock nodded and John immediately moved towards him, leaning over the console between their seats. Sherlock met him halfway. The kiss was chaste, lips grazing softly against each other. When they pulled back, John couldn’t resist a slight tug on Sherlock’s lower lush lip. He sat back, smiling. “That was brilliant.”

There was a flush high on Sherlock’s cheeks. “Yes, it was rather brilliant. I would like to do that again.” His color deepened. “In fact, I’d like to do much more.”

John’s smile was radiant. “Oh _yes._ Me too.” He sighed. “I was just thinking how I wished this flight would last forever. Now I wish we were on the ground so that I could drag you off to a bed.”

Warmth spread through Sherlock’s chest.  Most people’s motives were transparent. Money, greed and power were universal. Yet he didn’t sense any of that from John. He was an anomaly and Sherlock was utterly captivated.

He wasn’t jesting when he said he might never let John go. He’d never been one to share and he desperately wanted to wrap John in his arms and declare him ‘mine’ to anyone who would dare to demand his attention. He wanted John in every sense; he wanted to know what noises he would make as Sherlock touched him, to feel his muscles as they moved beneath his hands. Would he be a vocal lover? What would it take for him to lose control?

He was achingly aroused, and so was John if his dilated pupils and flushed face were any indication. He considered waiting until they landed, but they still had a few hours to go and he had to solidify his claim to John before then. He couldn't let John think this was some sort of fluke.

“Sherlock?” He realized he’d been silent since John declared his intention to bed him.

“Thinking,” he said, forestalling any questions from John. He ran through all the scenarios until he hit upon the one that would guarantee the best chance at success. John didn’t seem like the type who would want to advertise his sexual activities, but there was a reckless streak in him. He wouldn’t have joined the military otherwise. There was also a need for danger and adrenaline. He could provide both.

“It’s rather a shame about these seats,” he casually said. John raised a brow in question. “While the space and flatbed features are nice, there was a time when the seats were closer. We could have thrown a blanket over us.” Sherlock’s look turned coy. “I could have slid my hand under the blanket and no one would have known. I could have touched you, stroked you.” He leaned closer, his voice a rough whisper. “I’d have had you in my hand. Would you have been able to stay quiet? Would the others have known what we were doing? I’d have loved to hear you bite back your groans as you came.”

John’s pupils dilated even further until they were mostly black with only a hint of blue. “Oh fuck, Sherlock!” His breathing had quickened “No fair!”

“Fair is _boring_.” He slid his hand onto John’s thigh. “What I’m thinking of is much more _fun._ ”

John’s breath hitched. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like to fuck you _right now_.”

John shook his head. “We’re on a plane. We can’t.”

Sherlock chuckled darkly. “Oh, yes, we can.”

“How?” John whispered.

Sherlock smiled lasciviously at him. “I am going to the toilet. The one back there.” He nodded in the direction. “After I leave, I want you to walk to the rear of the plane and back as if you were stretching your legs. On your way back, knock softly and I’ll let you in.”

John looked skeptical. “Don’t you think they’ll be too small for us? One person barely fits.”

“We’ll be fine. The elite toilets on this flight are 1.7 times larger than the economy ones. With a little adjustment, we should both just fit.”

John bit his lip. “I hate to tell you this, but my contortionist days are long over.”

He gave John a smug smile. “That’s okay. I’m _very_ limber.”

John could feel all his blood heading south. He watched as Sherlock rose and headed toward the loo. He wanted to laugh hysterically; he couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. Any part of him that thought of being caught and humiliated was eclipsed by the idea of actually being able to touch Sherlock. That would be worth any price he would have to pay.

He stood and stretched conspicuously. Don’t over act, he told himself. He casually made his way back to the rear of the plane. Standing and walking actually were rather a rather good idea. He made his way back to the front of the cabin and stopped in front of the toilet door. He didn’t know what he would have done if there was a queue. Luckily there wasn’t. Most people seemed to be sleeping after the meal. He took a deep breath and then scratched softly on the door.

He heard the lock slide and he pushed into the room. Once in, he laughed quietly. “Huh, you were right. It is larger.”

Sherlock pressed into him. “I’m always right.”

John looked up at him, slightly giddy and nervous. He reached out a hand and stroked it over that beautiful cheekbone. He then dragged his fingers across those lips before curving behind Sherlock’s nape and drawing him closer.

They kissed, softly at first, exploring each other. John ran his tongue along the seam of Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock opened his mouth and the kiss went from gentle to ravenous in seconds. John thread his fingers through Sherlock’s hair pulling him closer. Their lips and tongues stroked frantically. The taste of Sherlock was exquisite and John couldn’t get enough. He wasn’t sure who was making a keening sound, but he thought it might have been him.

“Shh,” Sherlock said, breathing into his mouth. “We don’t want the flight attendants to get suspicious.”

John broke away from the kiss and moved his lips to Sherlock’s ear, sucking on the lobe. Sherlock groaned and pushed forward. “What’s that about being quiet?” John asked, chuckling.

In retaliation, Sherlock grabbed John’s arse and pulled him against him. The touch was electric, sending bolts of pleasure along his spine and legs. He muffled his moan in Sherlock’s shoulder.

He could feel Sherlock’s erection against his stomach. He undulated, trying to give the other man friction. Sherlock threw his head back and bit back a whimper. “John, yes, John. More. I need more.”

John reached between them and cupped Sherlock’s erection. He slid the heel of his palm along the length and Sherlock shuddered in his arms. He pulled at the buttons and flies until he was able to push down Sherlock’s trousers and pants. John ran his fingers along the shaft, circling around the head and back down to the base. “Please,” Sherlock whispered, his hips involuntarily pushing towards John.

“Look at me,” John commanded him. Sherlock’s eyes went wide and unfocused as John wrapped his hand around the shaft. He kept the touch light as he moved up and down. Sherlock grabbed at his shoulders, fingers scrabbling for purchase. His fist tightened and he increased his speed; Sherlock sobbed. His head dropped to John’s shoulder. John reached with the other hand to caress Sherlock’s testicles. The sac had pulled tight and John knew Sherlock was close. He increased the pressure and friction causing Sherlock to mouth at his neck, stifling his cries. Suddenly Sherlock went still and then he was pulsing in John’s hand. John held him through the aftershocks.

He had been so focused on the other man that he’d forgotten about his own needs but his body was now clamoring for release. Sherlock’s hands framed John’s face and he gently kissed him. “Thank you,” he murmured. Before John could respond, Sherlock squatted before him. There was no room to kneel, and he couldn’t imagine Sherlock being comfortable. He reached out to pull him up, but Sherlock swatted him away. He looked up at him through his lashes. “I told you I was limber,” he said cheekily.

He huffed out a laugh that turned to a growl when Sherlock mouthed his erection through his trousers. Sherlock’s nimble fingers had him undressed in no time. Sherlock’s eyes were focused on his erection. His fingers reached out and stroked him. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you.” John pressed his hand against his mouth to stifle a cry as Sherlock’s mouth enveloped him.

John tried desperately not to thrust and gag Sherlock. The younger man placed his hands on John’s hips to still him. He sucked and tongued the head, sliding down the shaft, teeth scraping lightly on the way up. John bit down on his hand, guttural noises sounding in the back of his throat as Sherlock worked him. He reached a hand blindly for Sherlock’s head, his fingers tangling in his curls. “I’m going to, oh god, yes, yes.” He tried to push him away knowing he was about to come but Sherlock suctioned even harder and it was the end for John. His vision went white and his cock pulsated, his body twitching with his release.

He collapsed against the sink, panting. Sherlock was still crouching, his head resting against John’s thigh. He reached for his shoulders and pulled the other man up and into a bone crushing hug. “You are amazing,” he breathed.

Sherlock gave him a dazzling smile. “Not so bad yourself.”

John reached for the paper towels, wetting them. They both cleaned themselves up and righted their clothing. “I’ll leave first,” Sherlock told him. “Give it a minute and then you follow.” John barely had time to nod before Sherlock was slipping out of the toilet. He looked at himself in the mirror and was amazed to see the look of happiness on his face. He hadn’t seen such a look in so long that it was startling. He double checked his clothes and then casually walked back to his seat. He was hyperaware of the people around him, but no one seemed to have any clue as to what had just happened.

Sherlock had ordered them both scotch, and his was waiting for him. “Ta,” he said to the other man. He held his glass in salute. “Here’s to joining the mile high club.”

“The what?” Sherlock asked, puzzled.

“It’s what we just did. You know. In the air, a mile up.”

“Oh!” A look of comprehension spread across Sherlock’s face and he smiled. “To the mile high club.”

John started giggling, and once he started he couldn’t stop. Sherlock looked at him quizzically. He tried to catch his breath. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you invaded Afghanistan.”

He motioned between them. “This was definitely a lot more fun.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “I should certainly hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome. First time writing m/m so I'd love to hear your thoughts about it, both positive and constructive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, many apologies for the delay on this chapter. The past few weeks were horrendous, cumulating with burst pipes which flooded my house like the Titanic. This means I am also way, way behind on responding to comments. I appreciate them so much and I will respond to each one!
> 
> Massive kudos go to Charlotte for the beta. She deserves her very own riding crop!

John had eventually fallen asleep, Sherlock watching the process with amusement. It had been a valiant effort on John’s part to stay awake, but his eyes kept drifting shut. He would jerk awake, mumbling apologies, only to slide again into sleep. He finally slipped under, on his side, facing Sherlock.     

Sherlock liked him like this; he could study him without hindrance. It was often said that people looked younger when they slept. Not so for John. While his facial muscles had relaxed somewhat, creases across his brow still spoke of past tension and stress. He was riveted, and as much as he wanted to do nothing more than to study John, he had plans to make. He checked the time. They only had two hours left before the plane landed. 

Placing his hands in prayer position under his chin, Sherlock considered the whole issue of John. As Sherlock saw it, he had two options: he could keep John with him or he could let him go. In the past, and present, if he were being honest, he had often, and loudly, proclaimed that he did not need anyone and he had truly believed that; it wasn’t the false protestations of the lonely. He was comfortable with a solitary life as there were very few people who could keep up with him mentally. What was different about John? 

He found his own company to be far more stimulating than what others could provide him. So often, he became bored with the inanities of daily life with another person. He’d tried it twice. Both times had started with promise. The initial sexual fervor had hidden how dreadfully boring the day to day was. As soon as the passion faded, as it must, he was left with the grating tedium of daily life with another person. He had vowed not to pursue it again. 

Would it be different with John? What distinguished him from the others?

Victor and Paul. He hadn’t thought about them in years. He hadn’t deleted them, but he’d relegated them to a small cupboard in the back recesses of his mind palace. Closing his eyes, he pulled out the memories now so he could study their likeness and differences with John.

He’d met Victor at university, and from the first moment, he’d been an anomaly to Sherlock. Victor had been soft and idealistic, so certain he would change the world for the better. He had been secure in his family’s regard and they had supported his goals. Perhaps that is what drew Sherlock to him. His own family had been so fraught with endless animosity that Victor’s innate calmness had been a balm initially. He’d found comfort in the uncomplicated affections of Victor, a friendship that developed into what he had at the time assumed to be love, but it had soon become oppressive. 

Victor understood that Sherlock’s brain needed constant stimulation and he encouraged that Sherlock widen his studies. But what Victor didn’t understand was that he also needed conflict. Victor saw himself as a counterbalance to Sherlock; he would soothe where Sherlock abraded. He believed in peaceful resolutions while Sherlock would prod and prod to provoke a reaction in Victor, but he would never give in. It was _hateful_. Their relationship had finally ended when Victor regretfully told him they were walking separate paths, or some such nonsense as that. Honestly, it had been a relief. He’d never once regretted not trying to alter his behavior to suit Victor. 

Paul, on the other hand, had been hard and biting, similar to Sherlock’s personality. They had met at a club that they both frequented, back at the beginning of his drug use but before he’d become an addict. Paul had reveled in conflict and the resulting sex had been phenomenal. Sherlock had felt free in a way he’d never been with Victor. 

They would wander the clubs, deducing the patrons. Sherlock had thought he’d found a kindred spirit, and he’d been delighted. But he’d soon realized Paul’s insights were not based on observational acuity but rather Paul’s own insecurities. His remarks were often cruel, designed to denigrate.  Sherlock’s own remarks might not have been kind, but they were always based on truth. 

He felt like he’d been duped but he reasoned that it was his own fault for letting good sex cloud his judgment. When Sherlock broke it off, Paul’s response had been pedestrian. There had been broken furniture and curses. Sherlock had been ultimately disappointed by the predictability of it all. 

There had been a couple of other opportunities but, rather than falling into the sexual part first, he'd stepped back and analyzed the person. Sex was not worth putting up with their flaws so, as a result, Sherlock gave up on relationships. 

And he wasn’t lonely. Truly. 

But John made him want things. He made him want to try again. 

Careful not to let sexual desire cloud his vision, Sherlock pictured John in his mind. Without the sexual aspect, what was he left with?  Mid-30s, raised in a slightly dysfunctional family. Nowhere near as extreme as his had been, but few were. Doctor, soldier, field surgeon. He had a strong sense of self, and definitely a strong moral code. Sherlock could easily see them arguing, fiercely, perhaps, but John didn’t seem to have any of that petty cruelty that had defined Paul. Having been to war, he wasn’t a pacifist like Victor.

Victor and Paul had been largely untested by life. Not so with John. He’d been battered but survived. He was damaged, but in a good way. It made him multifaceted and definitely not boring. Sherlock could see himself spending time with John without becoming fatigued by it all.

Sherlock sighed in relief. He’d been worried that he’d find John banal without the sexual element, but that was not the case. He was interesting even without it; the sex was a bonus. A very nice bonus.

There was no longer any question as to whether he should let John go or keep him. Now he needed to focus on getting him to stay. Based on what he knew, coercion and force wouldn’t work; John would have to _want_ to stay with him. He had one hour and 46 minutes to figure out how he would accomplish that.   
   


**********  


John was drifting somewhere in that twilight area between sleep and wakefulness. His body was relaxed and his eyes shut, yet his thoughts kept circling back to Sherlock. The entire flight from the moment he’d stepped on to the plane had been so different from anything he experienced in recent memory - it was exciting and brilliant and amazing. Chuckling to himself, he knew that if he stayed near Sherlock, he’d have to invest in a new thesaurus. The continual repetition of amazing and brilliant could become meaningless, and he didn’t want that to happen.  

But that also implied that he would be seeing Sherlock again. They both lived in London, but it wasn’t like it was a sleepy hamlet where everyone knew each other. It was conceivable he’d live out the rest of his life in London and never run into Sherlock again. Sherlock had said he might not let John go, but those could be words said in the heat of the moment. The minute that they landed, Sherlock might dash off, leaving John to stare after him as he disappeared. The thought made both his shoulder and thigh twinge. 

He was reminded of an American service woman he’d met in Afghanistan. Rebecca, if he remembered correctly. She’d told him of how she'd been on a long flight similar to this one and she and her seat mate had hit it off. They’d both vowed it would last beyond the length of the flight, but it hadn’t. She’d gotten scared and had run from him as soon as they landed. Two failed marriages later, she’d sadly told him that she might have missed her chance.

Was this the same thing? Did they have a chance or was it only in his imagination? They had connected, and that wasn’t even including the sex. Sherlock was funny and engaging and sexy as all hell, but was it only because of circumstances, being confined for such a long time? Was it a way for Sherlock to alleviate the boredom he so feared? 

This speculation was useless. Not being the type to sit idly by, he would have to gather his courage and _talk_ to Sherlock. He knew which way he wanted it to go, but he was strong enough to handle the rejection if it came.

Pulling himself fully to consciousness, he looked up at Sherlock who seemed lost in thought. He murmured a quiet ‘hi’.

Sherlock turned to him. “You slept well?” John nodded. Sherlock flagged the flight attendant to bring them coffee. “I want you fully alert,” he told John. 

The coffee delivered, John drank it gratefully. He needed the caffeine to clear out the sleep fog still lingering. Sherlock merely fidgeted with his cup, his expression one of discomfort which disheartened John. This sounded like the beginnings of a brush off.

“John, I am often blunt to a fault. I do not believe in being coy, so I will just say what I mean.”

John nodded. He couldn’t meet Sherlock’s gaze, instead focusing on his hand to keep it from visibly trembling. 

“John, look at me.” John raised his eyes.  Sherlock covered his shaking hand with his own. “I would like for you to get off the plane with me in Minneapolis.”

John sat back in surprise. His two possibilities were rejection or we’ll try to get together when we’re both back in London. He had never considered this an option. Was he crazy for even considering it? Yet if Sherlock was offering, it meant he was just as invested as John. And really, what did he have waiting for him back home? A lonely bedsit, a predictable life? John knew he was a risk taker, he wouldn’t have joined the army otherwise. 

He wanted to know if Sherlock meant for them to be together just in the states or if it would extend to when they were back in London. John wasn’t sure he cared. It was something new, different and he would enjoy it while it lasted.  Decision made, he was exultant; he wanted to jump up and shout ‘Yes! You mad wanker!’

But reality intruded. No matter what he thought about his sister’s hasty marriage, he had an obligation to her. “I would like nothing more than that, Sherlock,” he told him ruefully, “but it’s my sister’s wedding. I can’t miss it.”

“And you won’t, I promise.” Sherlock’s words were urgent. He needed John to see that this plan could work. “You said the rehearsal dinner was Friday night and the wedding on Saturday. We land Thursday morning. That will give me all day plus part of Friday to solve the case. Then we can fly to Oregon on Friday. If for some reason I don’t solve the case, we’ll return after the wedding.”

John rubbed his free hand over his mouth. Sherlock tried to determine if it was a good sign or a bad one. After what seemed like an interminable pause, John placed the hand on top of Sherlock’s and looked directly at him. “This is more than I was expecting. I thought you’d either brush me off or offer to meet up in London.” He crooked a smile. “I wasn’t expecting the let’s run offer together bit.”

Sherlock smiled back at him, his breathing a little easier. “One thing you should know about me, John, is that I absolutely loathe doing what’s expected.” His face lit up. “Oregon should be _fascinating_. The sheer number of serial killers they’ve had: Bundy, Ridgway, Yates, Woodfield, Rogers, Brudos. Oh yes, I’ll solve this case quickly and then we’ll go there. Perhaps we’ll even find an active serial killer there. It will be grand!”

Sherlock was delighted by John’s laugh. It had to be a good sign. “You’re a nutter,” John’s tone was fond. “You do realize, right, that you just offered to be my plus one?”

“I do understand it’s fast and not at all the way these things work, but,” he paused, afraid he could still yet push him away, “but, I’m afraid that if I let you go, you’ll slip away from me forever. I can’t have that.” He looked at him earnestly. “I want you by my side.”

He watched John’s wonderfully expressive face as it processed what Sherlock had said. He was softening towards him, he could tell. He just needed something to push the balance in Sherlock’s favour.

He plucked at John’s cuff. “I’ve always worked alone. I’ve never had someone to watch my back. Sometimes it gets dangerous and it would be nice to have someone I trust with me.”

“You said this was an easy case. How dangerous could it be?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Families can be unpredictable when money is involved. It would be nice to not be alone.”

John narrowed his eyes at him. “Are you trying to manipulate me?”

Sherlock gave him an innocent look. “Is it working?”

“No,” he lied. 

John exhaled deeply. He knew he was lost. There was no way he was letting Sherlock go so why even bother pretending he wasn’t going to follow him to the ends of the earth?

He could see that Sherlock was gearing up to make another argument. While he wanted to see what he’d say next, it was cruel to let him think he was still considering. 

John smiled at him. “Okay.”

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut. “Okay?” he asked tentatively.

His grin widened. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

Sherlock’s grin was smug. “I knew you would agree.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said affectionately.

Sherlock shrugged. “I was _nearly_ certain that you’d see the logic in my argument. You’re less of an idiot than most.”

John huffed out a laugh. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted. He’d go with flattered, he decided. “Tell me about the case.”

Sherlock spoke of a stolen Rembrandt sketch valued at a million pounds. The patriarch of the family suspected the son-in-law but he had no proof. Sherlock wasn’t so certain. There were several members of the family with larcenous pasts. 

John frowned at that. “I’d feel much better watching your back if I had my gun with me.”

Sherlock fluttered his hand dismissively. “Please, we’re going to the States. I could secure you a gun before we even left the airport.” He paused. “You have a gun? Of course you do. This just gets better and better.” He leaned in close. “We are going to have such a wonderful time together.”

An announcement came over the speakers advising them they would be landing shortly. While John questioned his sister’s judgment, he couldn’t help but be grateful to her. If not for her impetuousness, he would never have met Sherlock. He’d have to rethink his wedding gift; this deserved something rather spectacular. 

Lost in thought, he missed part of what Sherlock was saying. He was pretty sure he just said something important. “What did you just say?” he asked.

Sherlock huffed, annoyed. John suppressed a smile. He could already tell that he hated repeating himself. “I was saying that when we get back to London, you should move in with me. The flat has a second bedroom, but we’ll be hardly needing that. I can turn it into a lab. You should be pleased. I had planned on keeping my experiments in the kitchen.”

Sherlock looked confident, but John could see it was mostly bravado. “Not so sure how I feel about noxious fumes,” he teased. He bit his lip contemplatively. “I may need _compensation_ each time you annoy me.”

Sherlock relaxed and became self-assured again. His smile was wolfish. “You do realize that’s not a deterrent?”

John’s smile became a leer. “Yes, but every time you behave, I’ll _compensate_ you.”

John watched in fascination as Sherlock’s pupils dilated. “In that case, I can be very, very good.” His voice was full of promise. 

The plane landed, and as they taxied to the gate, John’s heart was pounding. ‘This is it,’ he thought. ‘This is the start to my new life.’ He had a feeling he’d never be lost again. 

Upon reaching the gate, they both stood and gathered their bags. Sherlock looked over to him. ‘Ready?’

John grinned. ‘Ready when you are.”

As they were disembarking, the flight attendant called out. “Sir, you’ve left this.” John saw her holding his cane. He looked at Sherlock as he spoke. “I don’t think I’ll be needing that anymore.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! I am toying with the idea of seeing them in the states but have not decided yet. The Pacific Northwest is beautiful, but I think Sherlock would be more keen on seeing if he could find some serial killers. We'll see.


End file.
